


The Lost Kingdom of Vere

by NatTheSongbird



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Auguste is disabled, Gen, M/M, Mentions of past abuse, Multi, Vere is the land of the Fae, auguste lives!, fae!au, reference to csa, regarding A/N/J- I will fill this tag myself if I have to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-02-20 12:25:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13146660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NatTheSongbird/pseuds/NatTheSongbird
Summary: Damen and his hunting party stumble into uncharted territory across the border of Delpha and are taken captive, plunging themselves into a strange world of ancient magic and a kingdom long forgotten by the mortal realm.Laurent and his brother Auguste are beginning to unravel a heavy secret in their family when a group of foreigners ends up in their throne room. One of the foreigners, however, looks all too familiar.





	1. The Hunting Party

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Just_a_simple_trash_can](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Just_a_simple_trash_can/gifts).



The chains were beginning to chafe at his wrists. He shifted uncomfortably, chain rattling down the line as his movement caused a ripple down the length of it. He was chained to Nikandros, Pallas, and a handful of other guards. There had been an ambush in the forest, and their small party had been overtaken by foreign forces.

"What are they going to do with us?" Pallas asked quietly.

They had been sitting in a cool, damp cell for what felt like ages but was likely a day and a half. They'd been hunting in the forest before they were kidnapped. There had been a single crack of a twig, a voice in an unfamiliar language giving orders, and they had emerged from the shadows like they'd come from the woods themselves, quickly overwhelming them.

  
Fae. The inhabitants of Vere.

Vere was little more than myth these days, fading quickly after the last great battle between Akielos and the fae. Here, on the edges of Delpha edging into the old Veretian empire, the air almost tasted of something powerful and ancient. Something like magic.

The Veretians were fae from every sense of a child's tale: breathtakingly beautiful, clever, charming, connected to the spirit of the earth, and impossible to trust. They could twist a man's words into his own noose with very little effort, tricking innocent men and women into devoting their lives to the strange magic of their world.

"I don't know," Damen said finally. "But don't eat or drink anything. It isn't safe. If you do, they can keep you trapped here forever."

Nikandros looked grim. "Then they intend to keep us here until we are forced to die of thirst or go mad with them."

"Someone will come to deal with us soon," Damen said reassuringly. "Surely one of the Veretians is not as prone to tricks as the rest. There may be one that will help us escape."

Nikandros rolled his eyes. "You are too trusting, Exalted. Once they find out who you are..."

"They will not," Damen said, "Because I am simply Damen, an Akielon citizen who wants very much to get home."

"As you say, Damen," Nik said with a shake of his head, using his familiar name with the ease of a lifelong friend. Pallas, however, looked mildly unsettled by the thought of calling his Crown Prince by a nickname.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor leading up to their cell, and a willowy guard leaned against the bars of their door.

"Trespassing is punishable by death," the guard drawled. "But luckily for you, the Council will hear you at a trial."

"There should be no accusation," Damen replied calmly. "We were simply hunting at the edge of Akielos. We meant no offense."

Nikandros gave him a strange look, but Damen ignored him.

The guard shrugged, lithe limbs arranged in a lazy sprawl as he leaned against the wall. "Take it up with the king. Get up."

Damen stood, extending a hand and pulling Nikandros to his feet, feeling the chains rattle and pull as Pallas and the other guards stood as well.

"Follow me," the guard said when they were all on their feet. He laid a hand on the stone wall beside the bars of the cell. The bars rippled like the surface of a pond and vanished.

"Magic." Pallas whispered the word like it was a curse, eyes going wide and fearful.

The guard looked toward Pallas and grinned. "Tell your pretty friend there I could show him more than that if he would choose to stay with me."

Damen was confused. "Tell him yourself."

"He doesn't understand what I'm saying, and I don't speak barbarian," the guard drawled, as if he thought Damen were a little slow.

"But I- we- Pallas and I speak the same language," Damen said. "Akielon."

The guard shook his head. "You're speaking Veretian," he said with another lazy shrug. "I don't know what else to tell you."

Thoroughly baffled now, Damen allowed himself to be led from the cell by the line of his companions.

"What is it?" Nikandros murmured under his breath as they were led through the winding maze of the halls.

"The guard," Damen replied. "He says I was speaking Veretian, as was he."

Nikandros nodded slowly. "I could not understand either of you," he said. "I thought perhaps your tutors had taught it to you."

Damen shook his head. "A few phrases, yes," he said, "But Vere was vanquished when I was young. They disappeared without a trace. They were dead. What need had I of their language?"

"Exal- ah, Damen?" Pallas asked quietly. "The guard looked at me. What did he say?"

"Only that he finds you attractive," Damen admitted reluctantly. "But be wary. Do not take anyone at their word, and I would advise against accepting his proposition."

Pallas flushed lightly but nodded resolutely. "I won't."

  
They were led into a huge, ornate room filled with the sparkling eyes and beautiful faces of the Fae. A massive tree grew upon a dais, twisting into two thrones that were surrounded by floating golden orbs. The room had high ceilings that seemed to reflect the sky above, dotted with stars that twinkled down at them. Tapestries seemed to shimmer and move on the walls.

Damen found his attention caught by one on the wall nearest him. A beautiful stag stood in a clearing in the very forest Damen had just been wandering, and as he watched, it tossed its head and stepped closer. He almost felt he would be able to reach out and stroke its nose, but before his eyes, a spear flew onto the tapestry and struck it down. As the stag crumpled to the ground, it shimmered and transformed into a man with golden hair, handsome features contorted with exhaustion and pain.

Damen turned away, a faint feeling of familiarity niggling at the corner of his mind. He turned his attention to the two thrones; more importantly, to the men sitting on them.

On one of the thrones, the grander of the two, a man perhaps only two or three inches shorter than Damen himself sat ramrod straight, eyes roving over their company. He was blond with dark blue eyes, which flicked from Damen to the tapestry and back, and simple, handsome features. A golden crown sat nestled in his curls, and he was laced into a pale blue brocade jacket. He was, presumably, the King.

On the other throne sat a man who was the epitome of Fae beauty. He had sharper, more defined features; everything about him was more emphasized. His hair was a brighter shade of gold, his eyes a more piercing blue, his body slimmer and more lithe, his face more striking. He was sitting with one ankle on the opposite knee, golden circlet dangling loosely from his fingertips. As Damen watched, he set it on his head and sat back in his throne. He was ethereal and breathtaking.

The first man, the King, spoke. “Lazar,” he said, deep voice resonating throughout the large room, “Who have you brought before the court?”

“Prisoners, m’lord,” Lazar said, dipping into a low bow before the dais. “Trespassers, caught by your guards in the forest yesterday.”

Damen and Nikandros exchanged a look. Had it only been yesterday?

“The Regent ordered them put into the dungeons until you could make a decision, Your Majesty,” Lazar went on. “About their sentencing.”

The king arched an eyebrow. “Yesterday? Why was I not informed sooner?”

An older man stepped onto the dais, approaching the throne with the confidence of royalty. “You were indisposed, nephew,” he said in a voice that was pitched low yet still carried throughout the hall, “With your physicians. I did not want to disturb your much-needed rest with talk of intruders.”

“While I appreciate your concern, Uncle, I am more than capable of making these decisions as they arise,” the king said firmly. “In the future, it will be brought to me directly.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” the man- the Regent, the guard had called him- said, bowing.

The king turned his attention to the group in chains before him. “Laurent,” he said without shifting his gaze from Damen’s face, “I have need of you as a translator.”

Damen wanted to open his mouth and protest, but Nikandros kicked him in the ankle.

“Of course,” the breathtaking man from the other throne replied, rising in one fluid motion and crossing to stand between the king and Damen.

“Why were you in Vere?” The king asked, leaning subtly on one arm of the throne.

“What were you doing in our woods?” Laurent demanded in formal, accented Akielon.

“I speak your language better than you speak mine, sweetheart,” Damen replied hotly, hoping above all hope that his unexplainable shift into Veretian would happen again.

Judging by the king’s widened eyes, it had.

“It seems I was mistaken, brother,” he said. “Please, be seated.”

“Auguste-”

“Laurent,” he said, voice soft. “Sit down.”

Laurent sat down, jaw tightening.

“Why were you in Vere?” Auguste repeated, directly to their group this time.

“It was an accident,” Damen said quickly. “We were hunting on the outskirts of Delpha, and we must have left the border behind us by mistake. I assure you, Your Majesty, we had no intentions of intruding.”

“And yet, here you are,” he said, leaning his head on one hand. “Deep enough into Vere to alert my guards.”

“I thought I knew the way,” Damen said. “We frequent these woods, we live in Delpha and often hunt together. I must have led them astray. If you must blame anyone, blame me. Let them go free.”

“Damen,” Nikandros protested, but Damen silenced him with a look.

King Auguste was looking strangely at Damen. “Do you know why a mortal’s trespassing is such a terrible crime in Vere, Damen?”

Damen said nothing in return.

The king sighed and forced himself to stand, hand grasping the head of a gilded cane that had been hidden behind the arm of the throne. Laurent leapt up as though struck by lighting from his seat.

“Auguste, don't-”

With deliberate, halting steps, the king crossed from the dais to the floor in front of the line of Akielons. He leaned heavily on the cane for support, one leg twisted and useless, maimed somehow.

“Because of this,” he said, “Done by a careless hunter who thought to try his luck in Veretian lands, where the hunt was rumored to be plentiful. Because of every son and daughter of Vere killed or kidnapped for their magic. Because of Akielos waging war, laying claim to a territory that had been ours since before your first queen’s grandmother was yet born.”

“You would punish innocents, then,” Damen demanded, “For the sins of their countrymen?”

“The law is what it is,” Auguste said, making his careful way back up the low stairs. Laurent appeared at his side as though out of thin air, supporting Auguste’s other side and hissing something in his ear. “But I am… reluctant, to condemn a group to death so quickly. Vere is a bit more civilized than that, I should think.”

Damen breathed a sigh of relief.

“Jord,” Auguste called, sitting once more.

One of the men Damen remembered from the forest stepped forward along the walls. “Sire.”

“Take all but Damen to the forest where they were found and let them go,” he proclaimed.

Nikandros sputtered at his side. “If he stays, I am staying!”

Auguste raised an eyebrow and looked at Damen for a translation.

Laurent beat him to it. “He says he goes where Damen goes.”

Auguste nodded. “Very well. All but the two.”

“Exalted,” Pallas whispered, torn.

“Go,” Damen whispered back. . “We’ll be alright. That’s an order.”

The new soldier, Jord, and the guard from earlier, Lazar, each laid a hand to the chain on either side of Damen and Nikandros and it vanished as their cell bars had. Pallas and the other guards were led out of the hall and out of sight.

Damen stared up at Auguste. “I have your word they will be safe?”

“My captain will bring them back to the very spot you were overtaken and blur their memory of how to find us before releasing them, unharmed, to return to Delpha. If they know their way home, they will live.”

“Thank you,” Damen said, surprised.

On the edge of the dais, the king’s uncle looked furious. “Our laws say trespassers must be put to death,” he said, rising and crossing to the throne once more. “Our ancient codes, our traditions, the very fabric of our kingdoms. The two remaining invaders must be executed!”

Around the room, a handful of older Fae in distinctive golden robes nodded.

“Council,” Auguste said in a voice that filled the room, “To me. Anyone beyond the councilors and our prisoners, see yourself out immediately.”

There was a rustle of movement and a small chattering that broke over the room as the other lords and ladies trickled out. As the door closed behind the last giggling noble, Auguste sighed.

“Laurent, if you would?”

Laurent closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened his eyes and exhaled, the air around him seemed to glow for a moment before settling into a healthy flush on his cheeks and a shimmering of his eyes. “It is done, m’lord.”

“Magic,” Nikandros muttered, much the same way Pallas had.

Laurent’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile.

The fae in gold robes had assembled at a low table at the bottom of the dais. The uncle- the Regent- sat at the head.

“The two Akielons before us are charged with trespassing,” Auguste said, sitting back in his throne. Laurent shot him a concerned look. “A sentence must be decided. Discuss.”

“The law says they must be put to death,” the Regent exclaimed immediately.

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, but one member of the council shook his head.

“The King already pardoned the rest of their company,” he protested. “Why should these two suffer a different fate?”

“Because one is their leader and one is overly loyal,” a different member said. “And they should be the ones held accountable for their mistake.”

The arguing swelled and washed over Damen and Nikandros as they stood, chained together, and waited.

“He's… not what I expected,” Nikandros murmured, looking at the dais.

“Who? The prince?”

“No, the king,” he said. “He's… kinder. Stronger, too, he's built like an Akielon soldier, except for…”

“The leg,” Damen finished, eyes wandering back to the tapestry once more. “Do you think that's him?”

Nikandros followed Damen’s gaze and nodded.

On the dais, Laurent stood. “I would put an end to this babbling,” he said, sounding bored. “I am pardoning him.”

“You are not the king,” the Regent said, “Nor a member of this council. You have no power-”

“I invite you to recall that you are speaking to your Crown Prince,” Auguste cut in, voice firm, “And that he is deserving of more respect.”

There was a tense moment of silence.

“My apologies, Your Highness,” the Regent said, voice dripping with overly apologetic affection. “I only meant that this is not a situation you can interfere in.”

Laurent waved a hand dismissively. “Under an old law, foreign prisoners can be pardoned if they're chosen by an onlooking virgin, do you recall it?”

The council nodded.

“Then it's decided,” Laurent said, laying a hand on his brother’s shoulder and looking at him for approval. “I choose him. He will stay here, in Vere, with me.”

Damen’s eyes widened. He was going to stay in Vere… as a slave to the Veretian prince? He was a prince. He was no one’s slave, and he had a duty to get back to Akielos.

He glanced up at the gorgeous young man that was staring at him with a strange expression on his face.

He supposed it could be worse. If the prince did not want him dead, wanted him as a companion or a bed-warmer, perhaps he could be reasoned with.

“Can you prove your claim that you qualify for that law?” Their uncle had an unreadable expression on his face and his hands were clenched in a tight fist under the table.

“Does anyone have reason to believe he doesn't?” Auguste responded, leaning forward in defense of his brother. “I have known Prince Laurent all his life. His habits are as familiar to me as my own, and I have never met or seen a lover of his. He has never confided in me about one. I believe him.”

“Perhaps we should give it a day or two,” someone said, “To give anyone else a chance to… come forward.”

“Take your prince at his word and take my trust as proof enough,” Auguste said. “This is my final word on the subject. Damen is to be freed and sent with Laurent to his chambers.”

“And what of his companion?”

“The other would have been pardoned with the rest, and stayed, against his own self-interest, so his friend would not face death alone,” Auguste said, looking at Nikandros admiringly. “I will not punish loyalty of that caliber. He will stay as well.”

“Where?”

“It's his choice,” Auguste said. “He may stay in the dungeons as a prisoner, or we can find somewhere more comfortable for him to stay as a guest, should he consent to stay with us.”

Nikandros looked at Auguste, not understanding his words but seeming to latch onto the underlying warmth in his voice.

Damen looked at Nikandros and tried to offer a comforting smile. “Neither of us will die,” he said. “I am to go with the prince, and you are either a prisoner or a guest.”

“Either?”

“It is up to you,” he said, “By word of the king.”

Nikandros paled a little. “I would rather not be a prisoner. Guests are usually not tortured.”

Damen smiled, slightly strained.

“He will be your guest,” he said to the king.

As the chain between Nikandros and Damen was melted and they were led away through separate doors, he had a strange feeling as they passed under the archways. Magic tingled down his spine, and he could tell that as he was led into the lost kingdom of Vere, he would never be the same.

Laurent fell into step beside him. “Let’s go, sweetheart,” he said, voice flat. “You have a new kingdom to see.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the gap between updates. Here's chapter 2! Enjoy!

Nikandros was in a small but lavish room, surrounded by luxurious architecture in the land of a people whose beauty was mythical and breathtaking to behold, and he was miserable. 

 

The halls seemed an impenetrable maze to him, and as he walked, roots of trees seemed to rise from nowhere to peek through the stone and trip him. He had taken to staying in his rooms and eyeing the meals sent to him suspiciously. The food was different from anything he was used to, and fairy stories he had heard as a child made him afraid of eating it. 

 

_ Don't eat or drink anything. It isn't safe. If you do, they can keep you trapped here forever.  _

 

_ You'll go mad with them. _

 

However, a few days of self-imposed isolation only reluctantly drinking water forced his hand. He ate, now, when a servant of the king’s delivered a tray, and resigned himself to going mad because of the fruits and extravagant pastries brought to his door.

 

Whether this act was kindness or a trap, Nikandros wasn't sure. Of any other Veretian he'd seen, he'd suspect the latter. But the king did not seem to intend Nikandros or Damen any harm. He was genuine and kind, lacking the duplicity that seemed to poison the rest of this country.

 

He had been freed by this king not once, but twice. Pallas and the rest of his guards walked freely in Akielos by his order. Damen lived, albeit in some strange arrangement with the prince, because the king had thrown his support behind his brother’s pardon. Perhaps the king simply was ordering food to be sent to him out of the kindness of his heart. 

 

A knock on the door startled him from his thoughts. 

 

“Come in,” he called, leaning against the windowsill at the far end of the room. 

 

To his surprise, the king, Auguste himself, entered alongside the servant bearing Nikandros’s lunch and inclined his head with a smile. He was once more leaning on his gilded cane. 

 

“Good afternoon,” he said in thickly accented Akielon. The Veretian lilt in his voice made Nikandros’s mother tongue sound almost musical and somehow new to his ears. “I came to speak with you, if you don't mind?” 

 

Nikandros spread his hands and gestured to the table at the corner of the room. “Please.” 

 

“Forgive me if my Akielon is not very good,” he said with a self-deprecating laugh as he lowered himself into a chair. “I learned when I was small, and am… out of practice.” 

 

Nikandros was wary, but he sat at the table anyway. “It's fine,” he said. “Your accent is interesting. What did you want to talk to me about?” 

 

“The, ah… terms, I suppose, of your stay here in Vere.”

 

Nikandros raised an eyebrow. “You mean my imprisonment.” 

 

He was expecting to be met with anger for his comment, but to his surprise, the king dropped his eyes to the table and sighed. 

 

“I know it must seem like that,” he said, “But it is how it must be.”

 

“You would have let me go, once,” Nikandros said. “Why are you reticent now?”

 

When the king’s brow furrowed slightly, Nikandros realized the word was unfamiliar in Akielon. 

 

“Why won't you now?” he amended. 

 

Auguste sighed. “You chose to stay with your friend in Vere, but your friend was pardoned by the prince.” 

 

“Is he safe?” Nikandros interrupted, pleading. “Damen? Is he alright?” 

 

“He is well enough, but having a bit of trouble adjusting to… well, adjusting to Laurent,” Auguste said, his voice somewhere between exasperation and fondness. 

 

“I stayed to ensure his safety,” Nikandros said, “Not to be a prisoner in fancy quarters for eternity.” 

 

“You are not confined to these quarters,” Auguste said, looking concerned. “There is a whole kingdom of Vere, a whole city outside the palace walls-” 

 

“I have no interest in this kingdom or even this city,” he interrupted. “My only interest is going home.”

 

“I'm afraid I can't let you do that.” 

 

“Why not?” 

 

The king sighed. “I was telling the truth when I told you that trespassing is a serious offense here. If you leave, your memory of this place will be erased so that you can never return. You wouldn't know where your friend was, only that he was gone from you. You'd look for him, and bonds of love have been known to do strange things to magic. It's possible you could find us again.

 

“Damen and I are not lovers,” he protested. “We are childhood friends. Brothers in sentiment, if not in blood.” 

 

“I know,” he said. “And I know that there is no magic in this world that could keep me from finding Laurent if he were taken from me. By sheer determination or by faulty magic, the possibility exists. You will stay in Vere.”

 

Nikandros’s heart sank. 

 

“The Council is still divided over your staying here,” he continued. “Half of them want you both dead. The other half want you moved out of the palace and given work somewhere in Arles.”

 

“And you?” Nikandros asked, looking at the king with eyebrows raised. “What do you want with me?”

 

The king looked at him for a long moment before rising. “I think you are fine where you are,” he said finally. “We may even learn something from each other. Enjoy your afternoon, Nikandros.” The king rose, and instinct drew Nikandros to his feet as well, Akielon royal customs guiding him.

 

“Unlikely,” he grumbled under his breath. A thought struck him. “How did you know my name?”

 

At the doorway, the king paused and turned back to look at him. “Magic,” he said, “Can be a very useful tool.” His voice was carefully light. 

 

Nikandros stiffened. The idea of someone using magic to learn things about him without his knowledge, without him having any say in the matter, made his skin crawl.

 

The king laughed, shaking his head. “That, and your friend was as eager to ask for news of you as you were of him. I inquired after it.”

 

Nikandros bit back a scowl. He did not appreciate being teased. 

 

The door shut behind the king, and for a brief moment, Nikandros could have sworn the air shimmered where he had been sitting, like it had around the younger one in the hallway what felt like lifetimes ago. Time crawled by slowly here, trapped in a glittering palace full of people who held the power and energy of the world on dancing fingertips as though it were meaningless to them. 

 

He shook his head again, grumbling under his breath. “ _ Magic.” _

 

\----------

 

The younger prince was a study in contrasts. 

 

He was beautiful but sharp-witted and biting. He was a virgin, as he’d so brazenly announced to the court, but he had a filthy mouth that would make even a seasoned Akielon soldier blush. Most baffling of all, he had saved Damen from his execution, but he seemed to hate him. 

 

Damen had small rooms that connected to the lavish ones Laurent himself occupied. For the day, he either stayed there, slowly going out of his mind with boredom, or followed at Laurent’s side throughout Arles. 

 

Today, the young prince had abruptly opened his doors early in the morning. Damen rolled over and covered his head with a pillow. 

 

“Get up and get dressed,” Laurent said. “The king wishes to speak with us before we ride out.” 

 

“I wasn't aware we were riding out anywhere,” Damen said into the mattress. 

 

Laurent sighed and snapped his fingers. With a yelp, Damen found himself unceremoniously yanked from his bed and deposited on the floor. 

 

“The king wishes to speak with us,” Laurent said again. “It's impolite to keep him waiting.” 

 

“Everything you do is impolite,” Damen grumbled. Laurent narrowed his eyes and moved two fingers in a beckoning gesture. 

 

Damen was brought to his feet and pulled across the room as though Laurent had him on a leash. Up close, when the Fae was using magic, he could see it dancing in Laurent’s eyes, a subtle shifting of color until his eyes burned like a blue flame. 

 

“Get dressed,” Laurent said. He looked up at Damen. Though he was considerably smaller, the advantage was his and he knew it. “Your usual bedsheet will do.”

 

He closed his hand into a fist, and the magic hold on Damen vanished. He collapsed to the floor at Laurent’s feet in an undignified heap, shoving himself up and glaring at Laurent.

 

“Why did you pardon me if you hate me so much?” Damen grumbled as he pinned his chiton around himself and laced his sandals.

 

“I enjoy frustrating the court,” came the flippant response, “And I do not have to like you, not that you have any say in the matter. Tell me, are slaves in the barbarian country so mouthy?”

 

“I am not a slave,” Damen said. “And slaves are meant to serve and pleasure, not whatever I am doing here.”

 

“Oh, I am immensely pleased with our current situation,” Laurent drawled. “Stop asking me questions or I’ll let the court have its way with you. Have you ever seen anyone poisoned by a Veretian potions master? It’s wildly unpleasant.”

 

Damen swallowed the retort on his tongue, coming to stand in front of Laurent. The younger prince’s head came to roughly Damen’s collarbone, forcing him to look up through his fine eyelashes. 

 

It would be easier to resent the situation if the prince were not so beautiful. He was a breathing marble statue with the face of an angel and brilliant blue eyes that seemed to see beyond the world he was in, as if he could see the layers of magic wrapping around the world. Perhaps he could. The image was perfect and devastatingly lovely, but it was ruined every time he spoke.  

 

“Well?” Laurent drawled. “Are you ready?”

 

“Yes,” replied Damen. Laurent turned on his heel and left, striding out of his rooms and down the maze of the hallways without so much as a backward glance to check if Damen were following, as though he were so sure of his control that it was not worth the energy it would require to turn his head. 

 

Arrogant bastard. 

 

Damen followed Laurent automatically down the hallways, letting his mind drift through the woods and the river between him and his home. He was in an odd position, owing this young fairy prince a debt of gratitude for saving his life, but he was reluctant to reveal his identity. The Fae seemed to dislike Akielons, even those claiming to be simple lost soldiers. Having the crown prince of an enemy nation in their hands would undoubtedly be enough to sway the council into calling for his execution. They could not know who he was.

 

Yet neither could it stay a secret. If he were a simple peasant, they would never let him leave. He would live and serve at Laurent’s side until the prince grew tired of him and tossed him aside for the council to deal with. A prince, however, might have enough pull to negotiate safe passage home for him and for Nik. Perhaps the prince or the king would resonate with that call of duty and responsibility that was beckoning him back into the arms of his homeland and let him go free. 

 

He rolled his eyes as Laurent stopped at a door and tossed an imperious glance over his shoulder. 

 

“Oh, look,” Laurent said with mock surprise. “You  _ are _ capable of following simple instructions and not getting lost. Remarkable. Was it perhaps the turning of a corner that confused you the last time?” His tone was light, but his eyes were hard and his smile venomous.

Sympathy from that quarter was unlikely, then. It would have to be the king. 

 

The door swung open, and Laurent strode into the throne room with the confidence of one who had been prepared for that very throne. Damen recognized the feeling and followed him inside. He stopped several steps behind him and stood as unobtrusively as possible.

 

Laurent stopped at the foot of the dais and inclined his head in a shallow facsimile of a bow. “Your Majesty,” he said. “You called?”

 

“I did,” the king agreed warmly. He waved a hand at his guards by the door. “Leave us.”

 

There was the sound of muffled footsteps and the booming thud of the doors swinging shut. They were alone. 

 

Auguste relaxed when the doors shut, slouching a little and closing his eyes before opening them again and smiling at Laurent.

 

“So,” he said, laughing, “I’m ‘Your Majesty’ now, am I?”

 

Laurent shrugged, a much more casual motion than Damen was used to seeing. “You had guards in the room. I would not want to set a precedent of disrespect for the crown.”

 

“Fair enough. I have a favor to ask of you.”

 

“What is it?” 

 

Auguste’s eyes flickered to Damen for a brief moment and he paused. When he spoke again, his words were deliberate. 

 

“I have need of your skills as a shifter,” he said carefully. “At the border. For… reconnaissance purposes, shall we say? There have been murmurings of unrest. I would rather address them before they grow out of control.”

 

Laurent’s brow furrowed. “Where?”

 

“Marlas,” he said. “And the connected trading towns. I have a particular concern about the forces we discussed previously.”

 

Something dark and resigned settled into Laurent’s expression. His posture tensed. Clearly, his brother’s cryptic words made far more sense to him than they did to Damen.

 

“It will be done,” he said, bowing again. “I will leave tomorrow night and return within a fortnight.”

 

“You and I will speak in private tonight,” Auguste said with another glancing look at Damen. “There are a few details I would welcome your insight on. Until then, enjoy your ride.”

 

Laurent nodded once and turned, walking out of the room. Damen made to follow but was stopped by Auguste’s voice. 

 

“Damen.”

 

He turned.

 

“Your friend, Nikandros,” he said. “Does he have a skill of some sort? I fear he’s driving himself mad in those rooms.”

 

“He is a good fighter,” Damen said, “And literate. He is a quick study of most things and good with his hands.”

 

Auguste nodded thoughtfully. “Very well,” he mused. “We shall have to find him a place in Arles.”

 

“Will I ever be able to see him?” Damen asked before he could stop himself. “Is he well?”

 

Laurent scoffed quietly behind him, but Auguste’s expression softened. “I’m sure my brother can be persuaded into letting the two of you dine together while I meet with him on matters of state this evening,” he said with a pointed glance at Laurent. “He is well and sends his regards. I will see the both of you tonight, I expect.”

 

Damen bowed and followed Laurent out of the room. 

 

“Your brother seems a good man,” Damen said finally as they reached the stables. 

 

“He is overly trusting and optimistic,” Laurent replied evenly, flicking his wrist at a stable boy for his horse to be brought to him. “And it has nearly cost him his life.”

 

Damen thought back to the cane the king had leaned heavily on, the distrust of humans that was tangible in the throne room, and the oddly familiar tapestry. “His leg,” he murmured, “What happened?”   
  


Laurent swung up into his saddle and looked down his nose at him. His expression had closed into a cold glare. Clearly, Damen’s question had touched a nerve. 

 

“Why?” Laurent said, “Hoping you can repeat it on me and make your escape?”

 

Damen felt his temper flare. “I am not as dishonorable as that,” he said. “Though if  _ that _ is how things are done here, I would welcome an escape.”

Laurent looked at him for a long, silent moment as Damen swung up into the ornamented saddle of a horse.

 

“You have no idea,” he murmured finally. He nudged his horse forward without another word to Damen and took off like a shot.

 

Damen swore under his breath and started forward after him. Icy and insufferable or not, the prince was his best shot at surviving this court long enough to return home.

 

“Keep up!” Laurent called over one shoulder. “I was hoping your horsemanship wouldn’t be as dismal as your sense of dress. Was I mistaken?”

 

Damen couldn’t help noticing the striking image he made astride a horse, power and grace clear in the poise of his seat and the elegant lines of his thighs. He was an excellent rider and something in his face looked younger here, more relaxed. He truly was breathtaking. 

 

Unfortunately, the stirrings of attraction were quashed every time he spoke. Damen eased his horse into a canter and pulled up aside Laurent.

 

“Is this better?” he asked.

 

Laurent raised an eyebrow. “Adequate.”

 

“I meant no offense when I asked about the king,” he said carefully. He needed to make an ally of Laurent, after all. “I was only curious.”

 

“I’ll tell you if you can beat me to the treeline,” Laurent said casually. His voice was so light that Damen missed the challenge in it until Laurent’s horse had already surged forward, racing for the trees. He cursed again, loudly, and took off after him. The treeline marked the beginning of a large forest. It was far enough away that Damen thought perhaps he could catch up, but the gap between them only seemed to widen. He rode hard, chasing a flash of blond hair in the sun and the sound of thundering hooves.

 

When he arrived at the forest, breathing hard, Laurent was already sitting easily. He looked bored.

 

“You cheated,” Damen accused him.

 

“I  _ won _ ,” he corrected. “No more questions.” 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: Damen and Nik compare notes on Vere, Jord is helpful, and we learn who has Auguste so worried...


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nik talks about a pastry: https://www.homemadeinterest.com/peach-rose-tarts/ 
> 
> The purple potatoes they see are real and DELICIOUS, look up Molokai sweet potatoes
> 
> That's all from me, thanks for reading!

True to his word, the king arranged for Damen and Nikandros to eat together in Nikandros’s rooms while he met with Laurent. Damen was escorted to Nik’s rooms by the king’s captain, Jord, who led him there in silence.

 

“It was you that escorted the rest of my hunting party out of here, wasn’t it?” Damen asked finally.

 

Jord nodded. “It was.”  


“Are they alright?” Damen asked, hoping above all else that they had made it out. “Did they make it?”

 

“I took them as far as the border and erased their memory of how to find us,” Jord replied. “If they know their way home, they are fine.” He knocked twice on the door in front of them, stepping back.

 

The door swung open and Nikandros appeared in the doorway. Damen felt something tight in his chest loosen at the sight of his old friend.

 

Nik appeared to share his relief, sighing and shoulders slumping forward. “Damen,” he said, drawing him into a hug, “It’s good to see you.”

 

“You too,” Damen said. They stepped inside the threshold, Jord following and lingering at the far end of the room by the door.

 

Next to the window, a table had been set for the two of them. There was wine and fish and bread, recognizable fare not too different from a simple dinner in Akielos, but there were vegetables neither of them had ever seen and a plate of something that was an unnatural looking color.

 

Damen eyed that plate. “Why is it… purple?”

 

“Fairy food,” Nik grumbled under his breath. “You should see the breakfast pastries.”

 

Damen laughed. “Have you seen the orange ones with all the layers?”

 

“With enough sugar to cover a horse’s hide?” Nik nodded. “Ridiculous and frilly, but not half bad.”

 

Damen thought that was a fair assessment of much of what he had seen of Vere thus far. The buildings were lavish but beautiful, the food unfamiliar but delicious, the people foreign but fascinating. The strangest part by far was the magic that seemed to be everywhere Damen looked. Servants rushed through the halls with their burdens levitating alongside them. Children laughed and played in the gardens on the outskirts of the palace and in the towns beyond, chasing fireflies they seemed to create from their very fingertips. Books of spells and enchantments lined the library walls.

 

And, of course, there was Laurent, who seemed to use magic for anything and everything. Damen had been the unwilling recipient of more than one spell from the prince; whatever advantage Laurent would have lacked in a physical fight, he more than made up for with his magic.

 

“How are you?” Nikandros asked, looking at Damen’s face. “With the prince?”

 

Damen cast a wary eye over to Jord, unsure how much he could say in the presence of a royal guard. They were speaking Akielon, of course, but Damen did not know how much Jord could understand or if there was some spell that would let him understand them. At this point, there was nothing he would put past Fae magic.

 

Jord was standing by the door, staring straight ahead and appearing to take no notice of their conversation. Damen decided the risk of being reported to Laurent was well worth the opportunity to confide in his friend. Besides, it wasn’t as if he had been keeping his feelings a secret. They quarreled about them often.

 

“The prince is the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” Damen said honestly. “It is a shame he is also insufferably arrogant and seems to hate me.”

 

Nikandros sat at the table and raised an eyebrow. “Then why did he bother pardoning you? He could have just left us all to die.”

 

“I don’t know,” Damen said, “Perhaps he gets some sort of sick pleasure from keeping an Akielon as a sort of _pet_.” The word tasted sour in his mouth. “They all did seem to hate the lot of us.”

 

“Why?” Nikandros asked again. There seemed to be no answers in this strange place. “The stories of a war between Akielos and Vere are centuries old, if it indeed ever happened. Does resentment still linger?”

 

“Or maybe it is something to do with magic,” Damen offered. “That they have it and we do not.”

 

Nikandros shook his head slowly. “Every time I think I have my head wrapped around this place, I see magic and my explanations fall apart. This place doesn’t seem real.”

 

Damen agreed. He had not seen much of Vere yet, trapped as he was to Laurent’s side, but it was so entirely alien that he was sure he could spend the rest of his life here and be no closer to understanding how such a vast kingdom had remained hidden from them.

 

They ate and talked, cautiously sampling the odd purple vegetables and washing it down with the sweet wine. When they had finished, they sat at the table in a companionable silence.

 

“When does the ice prince expect you back?”

 

“I am not sure,” Damen said. “It was not even his idea to let me come here tonight. It was his brother’s.”

 

“The king?”

 

Damen nodded. He noticed Jord stiffen out of the corner of his eye, as though his attention had suddenly been caught.

 

“Jord,” he called. “What time am I to go back?”

Jord turned to face him. “His Majesty will send word,” he said. “You will go back when he and Prince Laurent have finished their discussions.”

 

Nikandros was looking at him with a quizzical expression. Damen translated the conversation, wondering again why only he seemed able to switch between the languages.

 

“Discussions?” Nikandros asked. “What discussions?”

 

“The king said something about troubles along the border, but he was cryptic,” Damen said. “He is sending Laurent as a sort of spy, I think.”

 

“That means you will go with him.”

 

“Likely. We are to leave tomorrow night.”

 

“Damen, you must be careful,” Nikandros said seriously. “There are forces here we do not understand. A good swordsman is no use if his opponent can stop him by snapping his fingers, and if we have any hope of getting home…”

 

“I will be careful,” Damen promised. “And I do not think Laurent would let anyone else find out we were there, let alone hurt me.”

 

“He has no love for you.”

 

“No, but I think he wants the sole privilege of driving me mad,” Damen said, suppressing a laugh when Nikandros rolled his eyes. “He does not seem the type to share.”

 

“At least the king seems to be a more gracious host than the prince,” Nik said. “He has been kind about the conditions here, if unwilling to let us go.”

 

Damen’s mind once again came back to the tapestry in the hall of the white stag being struck down by a hunter and transforming into a man. He remembered Laurent’s instant defensiveness when he had asked about the damage to his leg and how the king seemed to rely on Laurent’s magic rather than his own.

 

“What happened to him?” Damen murmured.

 

“No idea. Ask our friend over there,” Nikandros said, jerking his chin in Jord’s direction. Jord raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Ask me what?” Jord replied in accented Akielon.

 

Damen and Nikandros exchanged a look.

 

“You could understand us the whole time?”

 

He shrugged. “Most of it,” he said. “If I was listening, which was infrequent. Monitoring idle chatter is not exactly high on my list of duties.”

 

Damen tried to shake off the feeling that they may have let something slip and focused on the conversation at hand. “The king,” he said, “What happened to his leg? What was that tapestry in the throne room?”

 

Jord exhaled slowly. “His Majesty was badly wounded several years ago in the woods not far from where you were found,” he said. “It is part of the reason trespassing warrants such severe punishment.”

 

Nikandros and Damen exchanged a glance and looked back at Jord. He sighed and continued.

 

“He had taken Prince Laurent out of the palace to help him better control his shapeshifting abilities—”

 

“ _Shapeshifting?”_ Nikandros interjected.

 

“You saw the tapestry,” Jord said, a little impatiently. “Did you see the white stag?”

 

They nodded.

 

“That is… _was_ His Majesty’s preferred form when he used that power,” he said. Something in his voice had gone wistful and melancholy. His eyes were far away from them. “Prince Laurent can do it, too, as a lynx. And if you see a fox kit running around the palace causing trouble, that is Nicaise, the king’s ward. It’s a rather difficult skill, and the larger the animal, the harder it is to maintain the enchantment. It drains your strength.”

 

Damen suddenly remembered what Auguste had said to Laurent.

 

_I have need of your skills as a shifter. At the border._

 

“How long can you stay in the other form?” he asked. Nikandros looked at him oddly.

 

Jord shrugged. “It depends,” he said, “On who is casting the spell. If I were to do it, it would be for a very short time. Ten minutes, perhaps. I am not a spellcaster, so something like that is too much for me. Auguste could hold it for nearly a day.”

 

There was clear admiration in Jord’s voice, the voice of a man who had dedicated his life to service of his king. Damen remembered how promptly Jord had been ready to act when Auguste called upon him in the throne room, of the steadfast loyalty he so clearly bore for his king. There was fondness there, but sadness too.

 

Nikandros had been staring at Jord for a long, quiet moment. Damen wondered if he recognized parts of himself, his own loyalty and admiration, in the other man.

 

“You loved him,” he said quietly, “Didn’t you?”

 

Jord’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. “The king?”

 

Nikandros nodded. “Talking about his accident pains you. You called him Auguste.”

 

Jord flushed. “A slip of the tongue. Nothing more.”

 

“I only—”

 

“It was this ability that His Majesty had taken the young prince out into the woods to practice,” Jord interrupted, still flushed. “He did not take a guard. They were close to the border, closer than I think either of them realized. Prince Laurent had been roaming as a lynx for a short while, but he tired and ended the enchantment. His Majesty was still a white stag.

 

“There was a hunter. One of yours. I don’t know how they passed the border, there are wards up meant to turn humans away or redirect them, but they were not as strong in those days. He threw a spear at Auguste and struck true. The enchantment broke, the spear still lodged in his hip, and…”

 

Jord trailed off. He took a ragged breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, something burned, angry and hot, in his gaze. Damen rubbed at his temple absentmindedly, trying to banish the fuzzy, aching feeling that had been growing in his head as Jord spoke.

 

“Is that why the king doesn’t use magic?” Nikandros asked. “Because of that accident?”

 

“When the enchantment was broken forcefully, something happened to his magic,” Jord replied. “No one knows what. It… snapped. The whole palace felt it, like something rushing through you. It’s why the guard knew to go after them; we knew his magic, we knew its signature. It was like his soul had left him and cried out for help. The hunter was unconscious when we got there. He and Prince Laurent had been closest to Auguste. Prince Laurent believes it is why he is the best and strongest spellcaster in Vere; he is using his brother’s magic and his own.”

 

“And the hunter?” Damen heard himself ask. “What happened to him?”

 

“He was struck by magic,” Jord said. “We did not know what that meant, if he would be able to use magic or to pose a threat to Vere when she was shaken. He could not stay here. I wiped his memory of ever leaving for the woods to hunt that day and the guard dragged him to the edge of the woods, close enough to a small town and its tavern that he would think he was drunk. We left. After that, I…” Jord looked at both of them, narrowing his eyes. “I do not know. Nor do I care, frankly.”

 

Damen’s head was pounding. With every word Jord spoke, the pain seemed to crescendo, throbbing dully in time to the cadence of Jord’s voice. He felt strangely on edge, like his instincts felt some danger his senses did not. Perhaps all this talk of magic had rattled him. He looked sideways at Nik to see if he was feeling the same.

 

At his side, Nikandros looked pensive, perhaps a little sad, but seemed to be otherwise fine. He felt Damen’s gaze and met his eyes.

 

“Damen,” Nikandros said, “Are you alright?”

 

“Fine,” Damen said dismissively, “It’s just a headache, came on all of a sudden.”

 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Jord stiffen.

“I must return Damen to Prince Laurent’s rooms now,” he said abruptly.

 

“I thought you were to wait until they sent word?”

 

Jord raised an eyebrow at them. “Who are you to say they didn’t?”

 

Nikandros looked at him strangely but said nothing. He merely stood and pulled Damen into a tight embrace. Damen allowed himself to relax into the comfort of his old friend, praying the pounding in his head would subside.

 

“I... will be outside the door,” Jord said. “Two minutes. Don’t try anything.”

 

The door closed. Damen stepped back, sighing.

 

“Back to my prickly prince, I suppose,” he said, smiling half-heartedly.

 

Nikandros did not smile back. He looked at Damen’s face searchingly. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

 

“All this talk of magic, of these abilities so far beyond anything we know…” He shrugged. “It unsettles me a bit. That’s all.”

 

Nikandros looked unconvinced but he said nothing more, offering only a farewell as Damen crossed to the door. As he laid a hand on the handle, he stopped, turning back to look at Nik.

 

“Why did you ask Jord if he loved Auguste?”

 

Nikandros shrugged. “I’ve been training and working with your soldiers for years,” he said. “I am no stranger to how a man talks when he’s got a crush on his king.”

 

Damen laughed loudly, shaking his head. Nik grinned at him.

 

“Goodnight, Nik.”

 

“Goodnight, Damen. Take care if they do send you to the border.”

 

Damen nodded and stepped out into the hallway where Jord was waiting for him. Nikandros lingered in the doorway for a long moment, watching them begin their silent trek down the hall.

 

“I am sorry if he made you uncomfortable,” Damen said after a long moment. “When he asked about you and the king.”

 

Jord nodded once in reply. “I don’t care what he thinks,” he said. “Come on.”

 

They passed the rest of the walk in silence. As they turned and the door to Laurent’s rooms came into view, Jord stopped and instructed Damen to wait at the end of the hallway. He stepped forward and said something to one of the guards outside the door, too quietly for Damen to hear. The other guard nodded and slipped inside the room. Moments later, Auguste stepped out. Jord bent his head and murmured something to him.

 

Auguste nodded, his eyes flicking to Damen briefly.

 

“Show him inside,” he said. “We shouldn’t be longer than another moment or two.”

 

Damen looked at Jord curiously. It did not seem like the king was anticipating his return. If he had sent word to Jord, perhaps he had expected them to linger in Nikandros’s rooms a few minutes longer. Or, Damen thought, perhaps he had not sent word at all, and Jord had merely needed an excuse to leave.

 

Jord nodded at Damen, and he walked down the hall and crossed the threshold back into the lavish prison of Laurent’s rooms.

 

Laurent was seated at a table in front of the fireplace with one leg drawn to his chest. He raised an eyebrow at Auguste as soon as he shut the door, seeming to stare directly over Damen’s shoulder.

 

“What is this?” he said.

 

“You of all people should recognize him,” Auguste replied lightly. “Or is there another Akielon hunter you rescued and polarized my council about?”

 

“No, just the one,” Laurent said. His tone was flat; Auguste’s gentle tease had not prompted so much as a flicker of an eyelid. “I was merely wondering why he was back.”

 

“At the risk of repeating myself,” Auguste said, smiling as he sank into a chair by the fireplace, “You did arrange this little situation.”

 

Laurent stood and crossed to his brother, brushing past Damen as he did. His voice, when he spoke, was low. Damen had to strain to hear.

 

“He should not be here,” Laurent whispered. “We have not yet decided whether we think our-”

 

“Careful, Laurent,” Auguste said, glancing at Damen. “Walls have ears in Arles.”

 

Laurent whipped around, scowling. Damen opened his mouth to defend himself, but Laurent spoke first.

 

“Don’t you have rooms of your own?” Laurent demanded, jerking his head toward the door to Damen’s attached room.

 

“I wasn’t-”

 

“Have it your way,” Laurent said. “Stay and enjoy the view, but we can’t have a barbarian running around Arles knowing matters of state.”

 

Damen’s headache intensified. He had a moment’s clarity before the unwelcome, suffocating feeling of magic crawled up his skin and into his head. A bright light flashed, reducing his vision to white. The world was silent.

 

This had happened before. Laurent was not afraid to drag Damen from his bed using his magic. Damen had been the unwilling participant in more than one spell, and the all-encompassing whiteness would last for a pair of heartbeats before fading away.

 

Sure enough, Laurent’s face came back into view, smirking. His lips were moving, muttering the last of the incantation too quietly for Damen to hear. He turned his back on Damen and walked back to the king.

 

Damen’s heart skipped a beat. Where he should have heard the sound of Laurent’s boots clicking on the tile, there was nothing. Utter silence.

 

He strained to hear even a murmur of sound from where they stood, faces somber, not five yards away.

 

Nothing.

 

Damen felt his mouth open, felt his throat move, could almost taste “What have you done?” as it crossed his lips, but there was no sound. He was deaf as a stone.

 

Laurent did not even twitch in his direction when he spoke. For agonizing minutes, Damen stayed there, standing in the middle of Laurent’s rooms, unwilling to turn his back lest Laurent’s next spell cost him his sight. He felt disconnected from the world, as though the image of the two brothers deep in conversation, brows furrowed and posture tense, was a passing tableau from a dream. He brought his hand up beside his ear and snapped once, hoping to hear anything.

 

Its only effect was to earn him a glare from Laurent. He let his hand fall back down to his side, feeling something hot and angry begin to bubble in his chest. Just as he took a step forward, meaning to demand Laurent undo whatever he had done, both of the Fae stiffened and moved to stare at the door.

 

Auguste’s mouth moved soundlessly, and Laurent nodded, helping Auguste to his feet. When the door opened, their uncle was standing there with his hands clasped in front of him, smiling warmly. Laurent’s shoulders were tight enough to snap, his face cold and impassable. Sound came back to Damen in a rush.

 

“Good evening,” he said, bobbing his head. “Auguste, your guards said I would find you here.”

 

“Indeed, here I am,” he said. “Is there something you need?”

 

“The council convened this evening to discuss a few rather trivial issues,” he said. “The change in cloth tax, details of our visitors and their situation, a few minor changes to the guest list of next month’s festival. We, of course, need your final approval before we can proceed.”

 

Auguste nodded once. “And this could not wait until morning?”

 

“Trivial though they may be, time is always of the essence,” he said, smiling. “As I’m sure you know, nephew. If you could just walk with me a moment or two, it will be a very brief matter.”

 

“Very well,” he said, taking up his cane. “Shall we?”

 

He furrowed his brow. “Will you be alright to—”

 

Auguste raised a hand. “As always, uncle,” he said, “I will be just fine.”

 

The pair of them left, exchanging a brief ‘goodnight’ with Laurent. As soon as the door shut behind them, Laurent leaned against the door and closed his eyes.

 

Damen made to step forward, intending to demand what the hell Laurent had been trying to accomplish by deafening him, when Laurent flicked his wrist and Damen felt himself being held in place by invisible hands.

 

Damen growled. “Stop hiding behind your magic,” he said angrily.

 

“Why should I?” Laurent said without opening his eyes. “Because it scares you? Because it ruffles your simple notions of right and wrong? Because it feels unfair that you can’t fight against it?”

 

“Because only a coward depends on such… such trickery,” Damen shot back. “And at least I _have_ notions of right and wrong. You don’t.”

 

“If you were in a fight with a man who had never been trained to wrestle,” Laurent said, “And you feared your life was in danger, would you consider it trickery to use a wrestling hold on him, one you’ve been trained to execute your entire life?”

 

“No,” Damen replied. “How did you know I wrestle?”  


“It’s a metaphor,” Laurent said, impatient. He opened his eyes and slowly looked Damen up and down before closing them again, head leaning back against the door. “And I took an educated guess. Would you consider it a fair fight?”

 

“Yes,” Damen said. “Because I didn’t use anything other than myself. The fight was fair.”

 

“Even if he had no one to teach him?” Laurent continued. “No father, no brother, no teacher? No way to ever learn what you had learned? You would still think it fair because the only power you used was your own inherent strength?”

 

Damen said nothing. He wasn’t sure what to say.

 

Laurent opened his eyes and pushed himself off the door, walking toward Damen slowly. “You misunderstood my metaphor earlier,” Laurent said, voice dropping to something low and intimate. Damen wanted to look away, but the invisible hands seemed to be holding his jaw in place now. “You weren’t the wrestler.”

 

He snapped his fingers. Damen fell to his knees, gasping as the pressure of the hands increased, knocking him down and effortlessly resisting any attempt to stand up. He had to look up to meet Laurent’s eyes. The prince was staring down at him, coldly amused.

 

“You were the untrained assailant, determined to threaten someone with abilities so far beyond your reckoning that the fight could never end in your favor,” Laurent said. “Magic is an extension of me in the way your arms are an extension of you. I have never used anything other than myself against you. It’s not my fault you make it incredibly easy.”

 

Damen scowled and made to stand again. He made it up an inch or two before he was shoved back to his knees. He bit back a groan as his kneecaps struck the stone.

 

“One more thing,” Laurent said, idly moving one wrist in a circle. Damen felt as though he were on a leash, being dragged to his feet by a point just beneath the hollow of his throat. He scrambled to get his feet under him; Laurent was disarmingly close now.

 

“No fight is ever fair,” Laurent said. “Someone is always stronger.”

 

He snapped his fingers; Damen fell to the ground. The hands were gone. He glared up at Laurent, desperately wanting to wipe the smirk off of his face.

“We leave tomorrow afternoon,” Laurent said, turning his back on Damen and unlacing the sleeves of his shirt, shaking his hair loose from the low tail it had been tied in. “You will be at the stables by noon.”

 

“And if I’m not?” Damen challenged.

 

Laurent glanced over his shoulder. “You will be,” he said.

 

Damen said nothing, turning and going into his own room. The door shut and locked itself behind him.

 

 _Magic,_ he thought with disgust as he fell into bed. Sleep came quickly, carrying with it dreams of two wrestlers circling each other, each waiting for the other to slip first.


End file.
